


In Another World

by bendy_quill



Series: In Another World [1]
Category: Ride or Die (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendy_quill/pseuds/bendy_quill
Summary: Deidre makes it to her dream school and finds herself adjusting to a brand new normal.
Relationships: Colt Kaneko/Main Character (Ride or Die), Colt Kaneko/Original Character(s)
Series: In Another World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878697
Kudos: 1





	1. August

She’s been over it sixteen—no, seventeen times. Check-in three weeks prior to the start of classes, RAs are all going to be at the front desk, and keys will be distributed in alphabetical order starting with last name. Ingrid is already set up and, for once, there’s no need to be rankled at the idea of her being first. They’ve already moved on from the bitter academic war they waged between each other.

“Valedictorian” goes to Deidre Wheeler, all around genius and undisputed number one hailing from Mar Vista Prep. Her dad thought it was absolutely hilarious but he always did say he’d rather see young brown girls fighting over achievements rather than stupid stuff. He’s given her the speech about a thousand times, “work twice as hard for half as much,” and work she has.

Burning through courses is almost a hobby more than a necessity. How many honors and pre-college credits are under her belt? Twenty? It’s a rush like no other and almost induces a high of the most unusual sense. “Better than yesterday’s Deidre”—it’s the mindset that keeps her going and the mantra that plays in her head on repeat. She conquered high school doing twice as much, three times as hard, and ten times better than the previous day’s version of herself. Ingrid is very similar and it’s partially the reason why they were able to turn a rivalry into mutual respect within the past few months.

In hindsight, it’s a good thing she managed to quash that thing with Ingrid. High school is one thing and she can’t afford to be all on her own in college. The online facilities tours make it clear she’s made it someplace well above her dad’s humble salary— _Langston University_. The most prestigious university on the east coast and full of alumni all running in elite circles who most certainly have been afforded educations that far exceed what she’s been given in her life.

These are vacation homes in multiple countries types—kids that have gotten pretty far on the most expensive schooling money can buy and parents that occasionally rub elbows with admissions officers and deans. Mostly wealthy white kids are stomping all over the campus on top of that, so of course that’s an even bigger hurdle to jump. Allegedly, it’s the money they’ll judge her for the most but Mar Vista wasn’t much different as far as the atmosphere is concerned. They underestimated her there too and she’ll roll right over these Langston kids. She doesn’t know any other way to be.

“There it is.”

Deidre lifts her head and peers out the window as the lush campus of her dream school passes by. Groups of kids wander the campus, likely visiting friends or heading to their summer classes. A few cars traverse the tiny winding streets and she thinks of the online facility tour again.

“ _State of the art buildings, each dedicated to the campus through the network of alumni and donors who are proud to call themselves ‘Drakes!’_ ”

“Ingrid keeps talking about how big the room is,” she says. “Still have to share showers though, so hopefully the other girls won’t be gross.”

Her dad smiles.

“I’m real glad you two became friends.” She makes a noise and he rolls his eyes. “I’m real glad you two became _acquaintances_. It won’t feel as lonely out here when there’s someone you know and she’s got a good head on her shoulders. Knows what she wants and goes after it–like you.”

She dips her head and her braids fall around her face. Her father shoots a quick look at her but doesn’t say anything just yet. He’d tell her to keep an eye on the landscape passing in the background. All sixty years of academic prestige—prestige she’s dreamed of delving into—surrounds her on all sides. It’s _Langston_.

Her father shifts and gently squeezes her shoulder.

“You remember seven years ago? When mom drew that portrait of me?” Deidre asks.

She can almost see it again: kitchen floor covered in white tarp yet streaks of paint still stain the linoleum. Her mother’s back always faced the door because the natural light always spills in on one particular side. Orange, yellow, and blue cans of paint fill the room with a chemical smell but she found she never minded it so long as she could watch her mother work. Deft hands glide along the canvas in total silence filling in color and smoothing out rough edges.

She remembers the little moments when her breath would hitch and her body leaned forward as her mother utilized some other form of artistic witchcraft to make her already stunning art into a masterpiece. She remembers watching her mother’s tongue retract back into her mouth as she put the finishing touches of brown in her subject’s eyes. She remembers the wide smile that broke across her mother’s when the work was finally completed.

Her father sniffs and clears his throat. Of course he remembers—how could he ever forget his wife?

“Packed it in the back for you,” he says. “A lot of her old stuff is still at home but that painting had to come with you to school. She never…” He pulls the car to a stop at her residence hall—her new home for the next four months. Ray Wheeler is a man that’s seen every type of tragic story imaginable and felt it in spades when Death came for his wife. Her father reaches across and caresses Deidre’s cheek, choking on tears dangerously close to falling as he stares into eyes that haunt him. “I know she’s proud of you. _I’m_ proud of you, baby girl. And no matter what happens from this day forward, I need you to know you earned this. You busted your ass and you made this dream into your own reality. You are capable—more capable than anyone I have ever known.”

She wipes her own tears. Five years ago, she lost her mother yet every day it feels like she’s still watching. Deidre looks up at the dorm in front of her—all square and looking more spacious than it has the right to be. Twice as hard to get half as much and she’ll keep pushing, not because there are eyes on her but because she sees it and wants it for herself. Success, sure, but endless possibility above it all.

Deidre steels herself and shares a determined look with her father. They both slide out of the car and every step she takes towards the building makes her tremble. She soldiers through it with her head up and her heart slamming in her chest. 

~

It takes an hour to fight through the throngs of students jockeying for their keys to their rooms. RAs and parents alike scream, most of the students are chatting incessantly or on their phones. It’s pure chaos and she almost loves it. The sight of a tall blonde in a cute blue dress has Deidre squinting at first until said blonde turns her head and she’s met with Ingrid’s picture perfect smile.

Ingrid wraps her up in a hug tighter than the one she gave at graduation. It is warm like peak hours on a beach and smells like a brand of perfume that costs money just to name out loud. When Ingrid pulls back, her make up is impeccable and her smile is brighter than the sun. She has to rise to her full height because she has to lean down to reach Deidre and it suddenly makes little sense why Deidre even disliked her for all those years.

“Hi Mr. Wheeler!” Ingrid exclaims, peering over Deidre’s shoulder and waving enthusiastically.

Her father gives a small wave back. “How’s your summer been?”

“Oh, so-so,” Ingrid responds, still smiling. “I guess I’m just anxious. Most of the time, I’m wandering around campus trying to wrap my head around this and then other times I’m just hanging out. So you know,” she absently waves a hand, “just your average young adult on the verge of being a real adult. Oh!” Deidre startles when Ingrid whirls on her. “Most of your stuff is here!”

Deidre tosses a glance at the packed lobby. “I still need my keys first.”

Ingrid snorts. “I got this.”

She barely manages to usher out a strangled sound of protest as Ingrid pulls her along through the lobby. The RA, Danny, quirks a brow at both of them. It takes less than ten minutes for Ingrid to weasel Deidre’s keys from Danny despite her name being dead last on the list. A couple of parents and students toss annoyed looks at them but all they get in return is Ingrid’s signature hair flip backed by Ray’s own intense glare.

Langston isn’t much different from the average ivy league. She can’t wrap her head around how much cash probably flows into this place but she can appreciate what some of that money does. Ingrid leads the Wheelers through rather straightforward halls until they reach the room. She watches anxiously as Deidre uses her key on the door and slowly opens it.

It’s a room almost as wide as the kitchen and living room at her dad’s house back in LA—two beds pushed on opposite sides with enough space in the middle to put two more if they wanted. Ingrid told her she wanted a bunk set up and has already finagled her desk and dresser beneath the gap. Various items decorate the space from fairy lights to the delicate lace framing the bed.

Natural light pours in from two rather large windows and exposes a view of the winding campus walkways. More students traverse these paths, shoving and laughing at each other as they shuffle to their next destination. Deidre peers out the window, takes it all in through two blinks and a breath. When she looks back at Ingrid, she’s gesturing towards the pile of essentials sitting on the other side of the room still waiting to be removed from the packaging.

She can already see it—dawn cresting just beyond the bend of trees framing the opposite side of the walkways as birds gleefully sing. Her heavy eyelids slowly open as she feels around for her water bottle and she removes her thick rimmed glasses so she can properly greet the morning sun. Her bed is pushed against the other wall much like Ingrid’s and sits on four pillars that raise the whole construct off the ground by a comfortable margin. Owls decorate her pillows and covers, muted blue and soft mint green the most prominent color theme, and she stretches sitting cross-legged at her desk while a full night’s worth of work covers her computer screen from top to bottom…

“You’re already thinking about writing a paper or something, aren’t you?”

Deidre shoots an annoyed look at Ingrid.

Deidre’s father whistles and turns slowly, taking in all aspects of the spacious room. “You girls should be cozy enough in here.” He shakes his head and mutters, “… _all this damn money_ …”

“You want to start putting your stuff together?” Ingrid asks, poking at the boxes still patiently waiting by the bed. “I mean, no rush or anything!”

Deidre shares a look with her father and the two smile warmly. It’s almost like old times again.

Strange thinking of it as _old times_ like it wasn’t just three days ago that she played the last game of _Conqueror_ with her dad on a quiet Friday night. He was somber then, still anxious and afraid of sending his only child off into the world. Every night it feels like he’s telling her a new story about a girl that got caught up in a mess she didn’t belong in or a boy that never had a fair shot at life. Cop parents are weird about the dangers of the world but she didn’t want him to feel bad so she just nodded and acted like she was listening.

Cracking open the packages is making it more real by the minute. Her father lifts one side of the bed while both girls slide the platforms under each leg. Ingrid helps Deidre push her desk up against the wall underneath the windows and her father hefts the back portion onto it. The rhythm is far too familiar—Deidre pulls her weight but her father shoulders most of the burden. He took care of her for five years after her mother passed and it frightens her to think of what he’s going to do now that she’s no longer in his reach.

The rest of the day goes by in a terrible blur and she can’t stop thinking about her father. Fairy lights wrap around the legs of the bed and stretch across the headboard. More are carefully woven in a delicate pattern above the wall that now holds a distinct picture of a younger version of herself. Muted blue and soft mint green sheets, pillows, and comforter bring a pop to the room that perfectly pairs with the soft pink and white of Ingrid’s side. Owls in various adorable depictions stare back at her.

It unfolds slowly and becomes the image she pictures it to be. When they all finish, she realizes her father is leaving tomorrow morning.

She starts crying as soon as his hand gently squeezes her shoulder and Ingrid quietly excuses herself from the room, tossing a sympathetic look towards the two Wheelers finally coming to grips with their rapidly shifting reality. Her brain almost tries to get her to remember the last time she cried but she stops it before it even starts.

“You’re gonna do just fine, baby girl,” her father says, choking up on the very assurance. They both know she will. They’ll both be fine once things get going in this new world. He pulls her back and wipes at her freefalling tears. “It doesn’t matter how far away I am, I’m only a phone call away, you understand?”

Deidre nods. “I’ll—”

He shakes his head.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says and nods proudly.

The world is changing. They are changing. But they’ll be here. She has to believe it.

“I’ll see you soon,” she repeats.

He stays until the evening and buys the girls dinner. The food is good and the right amount of greasy (salad for Ingrid though; Deidre never knew she was a vegetarian). Once he leaves, she is somber once more. Night encroaches quickly and she tucks herself into bed rather early. As Ingrid removes her makeup, she tosses a question over her shoulder.

“Anything in particular you doing tomorrow?”

Deidre shifts quietly. “No? What’s up?”

~

Within less than 24 hours, she breaks all the rules again.

There’s a list of them she always knew sat at the back of her head. All four years of high school revolve around them—she is Ray Wheeler’s daughter, she will conduct herself appropriately in his house. As long as _he’s_ paying for her food and _he’s_ paying for the clothes on her back, he expects discipline. No partying, no drinking, no smoking of any kind, and she responds with “yes sir” and “no, ma’am.”

“Ooh, yes. Dark lippies are _so_ you.”

Ingrid, who is much sweeter than Deidre ever gave her credit for, seems genuinely interested in befriending her despite their previous drama. She’s a bit too tall to share clothes but it just so happens that she’s an expert in making outfits when she puts her mind to it. A pair of scissors lies abandoned on Ingrid’s desk and strips of cloth lay equally forgotten upon the floor. Makeup cakes Deidre’s face (thanks to a quick trip to a local Sephora) and her body squirms in the newly made outfit that adorns her body.

She looks… _different_. Almost as different as the first time she went to a “high school” party. She remembers a few things from then—copious drinking and a lot of dancing, maybe a stray couple or two making out in the corners. Her face heats at the memory but she pushes it down.

College is different. A fresh start. Ray Wheeler isn’t here and he doesn’t need to know.

Deidre pulls at the short skirt clinging to her hips and fiddles with the crop top that is definitely slipping down (it isn’t—she just can’t help feeling like it is). Ingrid gently pushes her hands away so she can finish applying makeup, her tongue peeking between her lips and her brow drawn tight as she concentrates. It takes another hour before Ingrid steps back with a bright smile plastered on her face.

“Observe,” she says, stepping to the side and gesturing at the mirror.

When Deidre looks at the glass, she knows the face that stares back at her well. It’s her, makeup won’t change the bookish air she carries or the obvious awkward tension in her. Dark liner won’t change the inquisitive look in her brown eyes. Shiny eyeshadow and shimmery lippies won’t erase that strange pout, as if she’s chewing her lip trying to decipher some mystery she can’t quite put her finger on.

She looks the same but also different. This is going to be different.

“I’m insanely jealous of your makeup skills,” Deidre says, staring wide eyed at her reflection.

Ingrid beams. “You _should_ be.”

~

Turns out Ingrid has made a lot of friends in the time she’s spent on her own out here.

“They’re not really _friends_ friends,” she clarifies. They approach the frat house at a fast pace due to the length of Ingrid’s bold strides. Deidre keeps up as best she can although the journey is a little harder in heels. Ingrid’s lips purse. “One of the guys here is the son of the head of the biochem department. Allegedly, it’s a real boys club here and the only women that really get passes are…you know…”

Her brows raise and Deidre sighs.

“ _Legacy_ ,” they both sigh.

People start appearing around the bends and corners, each one of them dressed to the nines for a frat party. A few boys shout the Greek letters of the frat and pointedly show off their dates. Deidre looks back at Ingrid and notes the determination flaring in the taller girl’s eyes.

“There’s only two women in that department but they both teach upper levels. I won’t be able to take their classes this year.” Ingrid levels a serious look at Deidre. “We’re smart as hell. Smarter than most of these other people but they won’t act like it.”

She’s heard this conversation a million times.

“ _Work twice as hard for half as much_ ,” Deidre mutters.

“I’m not gonna do anything with the guy. I just need to milk him for a bit,” Ingrid says.

The frat house is…a scene.

Gold and blue flags drape from windows down the side of the house. People spill out the door onto the porch and spread across the lawn. Loud music blares from speakers on the inside of the house and the beat vibrates through every muscle in her body.

Every step forward has her more nervous than the last. Ingrid takes her hand and leads her through the throng of people crowding the door. Eyes land on them instantly—curious, heated, suspicious, accusatory, and every emotion in between. She sees the stray looks raking over her braids and the sneers that follow. Those ones she actually does make eye contact with and musters the most indignant look she can manage. They look away soon enough but not before sharing cruel snickers amongst each other.

The further in Ingrid leads her, the more prominently the bass thrums. She can barely recognize the latest Raleigh Carrera single. It seems like it’s been slowed.

“I see the guy!” Ingrid shouts. Deidre leans closer and follows her gaze towards him. He looks about what she expects—tall, brunette, and wearing a lot of things that probably cost more than her life. Ingrid shares a sheepish smile. “He’s not that bad, I promise. His friends are kinda gross though, so don’t be afraid to stand your ground. One of his buddies—that guy?” Ingrid points at a boy with glasses. “He’s a sophomore—mechanical engineering. Have a chat with him!”

They get close enough to Ingrid’s guy that he practically jumps up when he sees them.

“Hey, you!” he exclaims, throwing his arms around Ingrid. She returns his hug but Deidre doesn’t miss the way she squeezes her hand. When he pulls back, he flashes a dopey grin. His hands don’t come off Ingrid’s shoulders. “I was wondering when you’d show up! You look really good.”

Ingrid flips her hair and smiles a bit. She nods at Deidre. “This is my friend, Deidre. Deidre—this is Tatum.”

Tatum gives a two finger salute and Deidre returns a small smile. “Any friend of Ingrid’s is a friend of mine. Welcome to the frat! Come here, let’s get you girls some drinks.”

The girls jerk to an immediate halt. Or rather, Deidre tugs Ingrid’s hand _hard_. There’s a wild and panicky look in her eye, she knows it. Ingrid, bless her heart, immediately remembers that between the two of them, one of them has an incredibly loving father who is also a police officer.

“Um, so like—” Ingrid whips her head around and Tatum looks up from the punch bowl. “Can you make one nonalcoholic? It’s…um…”

Deidre’s face heats up. “I’m not…I’m not much of a drinker…”

Tatum’s friends share a laugh between each other and throw glances at him, expecting him to laugh along it seems. Ingrid’s body tenses next to Deidre but she’s too nervous to say anything further. It’s not like she didn’t want to have these experiences. Ray Wheeler is caring but he wouldn’t tolerate a daughter that was less than perfect. Perfect angel with perfect grades and a perfect attitude—she wants to try different but doing that is easier said than done.

Tatum’s friends nudge each other but Tatum nods earnestly.

“Oh, sure!” he answers. He pours some unholy blend of expensive alcohol and mixer in one cup, then makes a mocktail in another cup. He hands off their drinks with a flourish. “So how’s the east coast treating you both?” He shoots a quick look to his friends and gestures at the girls. “I mentioned Ingrid’s from LA, yeah?”

One of his friends looks up. “I bet everyone ask if you’ve met famous people all the time.”

Ingrid shrugs “It’s not a big deal. You all have probably met more of them than me.”

“I hung out with Nathan Sterling and Poppy Min-Sinclair on my dad’s yacht earlier this year,” Tatum’s glasses wearing friend says. He shrugs nonchalantly. “You know he’s trying to get in here? Kind of a lame move after everything he pulled at that other school but it’s whatever.” He nods towards Tatum. “Didn’t your mom have Bianca Sandoval over?”

“Er, yeah.” Tatum laughs a bit. “Poppy Sinclair though? How’d you make it out of that one?”

His friend shakes his head. “She wasn’t really interested in talking and I wasn’t really big on listening. Anyway what’s up with you, Deidre? You meet anyone cool in LA?”

“Uh, not really…” She takes a small sip of her drink.

The guys remain silent for a beat before Tatum jumps in. “So…uh… You been anywhere fun this summer?”

“Mostly bouncing between my parents’ vacation homes,” Ingrid answers. She offers a sweet smile to Tatum, who perks up immediately. “Nothing too exciting though. Been to Monaco once, you’ve been a million times.”

It’s a conversation that drones on, quite literally dragging its feet across the marble floors. At first, Deidre thought Ingrid would flash a pretty smile, maybe flirt a little. It takes a moment but she starts piecing it together soon enough.

One of the boys asks a question and Ingrid gives a nonchalant answer. Instead of elaborating, she reroutes the conversation back to the boys, essentially handing them the next subject and the floor while she takes ginger sips of her drink.

Suddenly it makes far too much sense how Ingrid knew so much about the kids at Mar Vista. Give them an inch and they’ll run six miles with it. She learns about them and they learn what _they think_ they know about Ingrid. Keeping up with the conversation gets increasingly difficult for Deidre but Ingrid always finds a way to swerve it back around to the guys so they can yammer on about their dads’ possessions and their mothers’ niche businesses.

It’s so drab despite the affluence dripping from their words and gleaming in the low light of the house. Deidre looks around at the many faces slowly rocking and grooving to the beat, or rather what they think is the beat. Couples sway together and drunken kisses are swapped. She downs the rest of her drink and turns, freezing on the spot.

Tatum’s friend—Brandon—the boy with the glasses and one year of experience with the mechanical engineering program under his belt—looks directly at her with something in his gaze she’s sure she doesn’t like. Like he clearly wants something from her that she’s not ready to give.

“Excuse me,” she says, squeezing past Ingrid.

She’s not too proud to admit she’s running. She’s certainly not too proud to admit that she’s out of her element here. It’s hot and starting to get a little rank. Someone is definitely smoking weed, or maybe a lot of people are smoking weed. Alcohol, too much expensive perfume and cologne—

A boy wretches in the corner of the kitchen and her face twists in disgust. All over the floor, completely missing the garbage can and it…it’s covering his shoes…

Deidre pushes past a couple of girls crowding the back door and ignores their moaning.

Outside smells good. Outside feels good. Fresh air and plenty of space to move around. There are chairs strewn across the patio as if they’ve been haphazardly thrust to the side save for one. A boy sits in it, head bowed and broad back facing the door. He doesn’t move for a while though the muted light of his phone shines bright in the night.

Deidre takes a step forward, head tilting and arms wrapping around herself in the cold. The wood must creak underneath her feet because the boy turns around and hits her with a look that almost scares her. It isn’t that he is scary looking—he just seems unapproachable. Thick brows draw tight and dark eyes linger on her cautiously like he’s trying to figure her out before she can figure him.

“Uh…” she stammers. She takes a few more steps forward and doesn’t take her eyes off him as he follows her. “Sorry, I’m just—I just needed some air for a second.”

She meekly drags one of the chairs away from its plastic brethren and sits down in it. There’s a good few feet of space between her and the boy.

He shrugs and returns to whatever is on his phone.

A few minutes of silence pass between them and she knows she’s blown her chance at making new friends. Tatum and Brandon seem like alright people but she knew Langston was going to be a test of all kinds. Wealth oozes from every corner of this place. Prestige and ladder climbing is not just about who you know, it’s who your parents know and have Tuesday brunch with. Ingrid chases a dream of being a doctor and all Deidre ever wanted was to bury her head into mechanics, taking things apart and putting them together again. She’s lost count of how many small appliances she’s broken and fixed. Her father hated it but he never stopped her either. She was smart and he refused to stifle her.

It’s why he always stressed _twice as hard for half as much_. People have been underestimating her since the day she was born but she never let that stop her from pushing herself. Being STEM and Black and female—she’s a nightmare and she’s been ready to haunt some prestigious minds for a minute.

But first, she’ll have to survive her first frat party and she’s already desperate to go home.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Deidre glances at the boy and he’s looking at her out the corner of his eye. “You keep sighing like you don’t want to be here.”

Part of her deflates.

“It’s not my crowd,” she answers. Her eyes rake over him again—dark shirt and regular blue jeans, there’s a jacket hanging on the back of his chair and she’s almost certain that it’s leather. “How long have you been out here? You don’t seem too keen on being here either.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment and she wonders if he’s lost interest in the conversation that quickly. Eventually, he sighs. “I’m here because my roommate is an asshole.”

He doesn’t elaborate any further.

“He’s inside?” she asks.

“ _She’s_ at home. There’s a chick she’s been talking to all summer.” He puts his phone to sleep and crosses his arms. “I’m just waiting for her to text me.”

It takes a long few minutes for her to understand it and then her face heats. She hadn’t gotten around to discussing roommate etiquette with Ingrid. There’s so much shit she’s already forgetting.

Deidre fiddles with the edge of her skirt and looks away.

“So if you don’t want to be here, why stay?” she asks.

“Why do you?”

She rolls her eyes.

“My friend’s inside.” She hopes it doesn’t sound weird coming out of her mouth. Twenty-four hours and she’s still in disbelief that Ingrid Tran Delaney is now her friend. “She’s talking to a guy, I guess.”

“You guess? Seems like that kinda thing would be pretty straight forward,” he says. Slowly she’s starting to feel like coming out here was a bad idea. Still better than being inside with Tatum and his friends, but not by much.

“She’s making _connections_ , so she says,” Deidre corrects. “And I’m pretty sure I blew my chance at doing the same.”

She looks back at the boy and he’s just staring at her—

 _Through_ her, actually. She lets her eyes roam his face a bit—kind of boyish despite his height with the only sharp angles on him sitting prominently in his cheeks. The lights from inside the house shine on golden skin but doesn’t quite reach those piercing eyes. She opens her mouth looking to chew on her lip but remembers the dark lippie sitting there. He starts looking at her— _really_ looking and it occurs to her that he’s not seeing her the same way Brandon did.

The boy seems cautious. Almost like he can’t trust that she’s just an awkward girl having an awkward but normal conversation. He leans back in his seat.

“Something worth having is something you have to take for yourself,” he says. “You can’t wait on some silver spoon toting douchebag’s go ahead. Most of these types will walk all over you without hesitation.”

The corners of her lips quirk. “Basically Mar Vista all over again.”

“Hey, you made it this far. Langston doesn’t even throw a backwards glance at average students so don’t knock what you’ve got,” he says, turning back to his phone.

“Thanks, um…” She looks pointedly at him and he just stares back. After a moment, he rises to his feet and grabs the jacket hanging on the back of his chair.

“Nope.”

The silence that follows feels like a punch to the gut.

“ _No_ …?” she slowly says.

“No need for it.” He slips the jacket on and zips it up. When he glances back at her, she slightly shifts away. “Go find your friend. I’m getting out of here.”

Before she can call out, he turns heel and walks off the porch into the night. People dodge out of his way pretty quickly on approach and she realizes that he walks tall, undeterred.

A few long minutes pass before she makes her way back through the house and back at Ingrid’s side. She shares a small smile and grabs Ingrid’s hand. Tatum regales another story of something his parents did but he had nothing to do with and all Deidre can think about is that weird boy with the leather jacket.


	2. The First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classes start and Deidre is already diving in.

_Seventeen, eighteen_ —her keyboard clacks in steady strokes, each letter spelling out a larger plan that should take no more than three years and some change to complete if she works hard enough. Every orientation event is over. Every “meet and greet” has long since burned the flames of excitement out her bones. Extracurriculars, plus honors programs, plus a few personal hobbies will fill her free time in between classes. But the main question again…

Seventeen credits or eighteen credits?

Deidre’s hands hover over the keyboard and she chews her lip.

“I know it’s not my business…” Deidre tosses a look back at Ingrid, her pouty lips pursed and her brow drawn. Ingrid glances pointedly at the open document on the computer screen. “We’re definitely still doing the competition thing, right? Pushing each other or whatever?” Deidre nods slowly. “Which is cool! But like…I don’t want you to burn out before we really get into it!” 

Deidre frowns. “ _You’re_ taking seventeen credits.”

“Yeah, but that’s because I’m doing my lab first!” Ingrid waltzes up and clicks to the next screen, displaying the course load Deidre painstakingly puts together months before the first day of classes. “Do your lab first, duh. You already have a bunch of high school credits for the 100 levels.”

“But I’d still have to drop a class,” Deidre says.

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “God, I respect you so much but you can really be irritating.”

Deidre balks. “Alright—”

“Here, take a bullshit class and you can keep your seventeen.” Ingrid clicks a few buttons and lands on a page describing a philosophy class. She squints at the screen. “Blah blah blah, classical and modern conceptions of love, blah blah. You just need to get an A and you’ll be solid, yeah?”

Deidre shakes her head and turns her attention back to the screen.

~ 

“ _A look at the ways in which classical and modern conceptions of love and romance have changed over the natural course of time. What the course aims to do is interrogate how love has been defined and shaped by society and cultures. Bring an open mind and an equally open heart to a two day a week lecture!_ ”

Seems simple enough.

Day one doesn’t fully prepare her for the sheer amount of bodies filling every concrete path between her and the rest of Langston. The way she works out her schedule, serious classes take place Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. “Bullshit electives” (Ingrid’s words) occupy her Tuesdays and Thursdays for the time being. One class that focuses on life skills and the other is apparently a philosophy class about love.

A comfortable pair of jeans and even more comfortable sneakers gets her through the throngs of people jockeying for space on the sidewalks. Some souls are brave (or foolish?) enough to bike through the madness but she remembers her favorite self-defense trick from her father— _throw them bows_.

Deidre shoves her way to Terrence Hall and wanders around the building twice before she finds the lecture room. “Room” because it’s small like a classroom and filled from front to back with desks. The age of the building shows in some of the dusty corners and faded paint on the walls. A good number of her peers sit scattered throughout the room, some leaning on desks and carrying on with casual conversations. A few of them eye her as she walks in. Their gazes immediately catch her old shoes and even older jeans. It’s almost funny how the braids and brown skin are the last things they see—at Mar Vista, it was the first but she at least had four years to show them all the money their parents had still couldn’t afford them a brain like hers.

She takes a seat in the front and rummages through her bag when she sets it down. Notebook, lead pencil, laptop open and ready—a long ten minutes pass and the professor walks in holding a cup of coffee.

He’s a small man and most certainly older.

“Thirty of you this year! Much less than I usually get for the fall semester,” he exclaims. His eyes scan over the class and the collective mood drops in an instant. Most of the students are sophomores. A lot of them are just trying to bang out electives first and this was one of the easiest classes the university offers. “Well, anyway—introductions, yes? As many of you should know by now, I am Professor Pines.” Some of the students giggle. “Yes, yes, terrible name, isn’t it? Regardless, I’d rather not spend too much time reflecting on my family’s awful choices in naming conventions.”

He hands a stack of papers to a girl in the front who passes the papers back. A steady stream of motion fills the room as students pass around what she assumes is the syllabus. When she receives her copy, she purses her lips:

_20% for quizzes—_

_15% participation—_

_15% mid semester report—_

_25% group project—_

_25% final exam—_

She almost groans along with the rest of the class when they all see it— _group project_. Professor Pines seems a bit too gleeful despite knowing he’s just cast them all to their doom.

“The basics of the course first,” he starts. “As this is a philosophy class, most of the materials we’ll be working with are going to come from a variety of readings we’ll be doing, examining facets of love and romance across multiple sources to answer that big question that hangs over us all—what exactly is love? What does it entail and how do we define it?” The professor clasps his hands behind his back and looks out over each student. “There are about a thousand ways to describe love but I want to have you all truly engage the topic. How we see it, experience it, and demonstrate it varies wildly and I’m eager to see what the lot of you come up with. Now, if you could all—”

The door opens and the professor stops for a brief moment. He continues with his next topic but it’s hard not to notice him digging through the papers on the table near him as he searches for a spare syllabus for his newest student.

Deidre sits up and thinks the weird boy from the frat party might recognize her as he scans the room for a seat. His eyes find her for all of a second before he struts down the path and takes a seat at the back of the room. She sucks her teeth and turns her attention back to the professor.

He goes on for a long while covering the basics and answering questions as he goes. Most of the students are just using the class to fill up electives—her included. Engagement seems like it’ll be interesting compared to her other classes but at the very least, she’s going to put some effort in. She took top spot back home and she’s going to have to work hard for even the smallest chance at achieving that out here.

“Before I let you all go, I just want to ask…” Professor Pines steeples his fingers, eyes intently watching the class. “What is love?”

His gaze rakes across the length of the room, each student slinking down in their seat and holding a careful breath as they gauge whether he’s the sort that will call on people or let them speak on their own. The silence lasts for a few more minutes until Deidre raises her hand.

The professor beams and the classroom lets out a collective sigh.

“Love can defined in a number of ways but the most basic would point to it being a psychological effect between individuals with well-defined social bonds,” she answers. “It can be a series of emotions, complex affections, and highly specific in terms of behavioral patterns defined by the parameters of a person’s relationship with the object of said love.”

Professor Pines nods approvingly and looks up. “Yes? In the back?”

“It’s a collective of impulses disguised as particular receptors in the brain that dictate meanings behind specific actions.” Deidre turns around in her seat and catches the boy from the party bringing his coffee to his lips for a sip. “Doesn’t always have to be deeper than that—sometimes the brain just does weird shit and we run around trying to add meaning where there doesn’t need to be.”

The class buzzes and Professor Pines seems even more giddy.

“Ah, a realist!” he says and the boy shrugs. “I always get one! Perspective is going to be key here, both in your understandings of the material and of what you take away from this class.”

Deidre raises her hand. “But the whims themselves would become receptors based on the emotional bond between the individuals in question, wouldn’t they? People can act out of a sense of impulse but love requires those impulses be tailored to prior experience with an individual.”

The boy snorts. “Not necessarily. People can say or do something under the guise of love but that doesn’t necessarily make it so. It’s the brain assigning meaning to whims.”

She bristles. “The presence of whims would require a prior interaction that shapes it.”

“Does it? I mean, I don’t believe in that ‘love at first sight’ crap but the existence of such narratives makes a pretty strong case for love being just the brain trying to find ways to assign meanings—”

“Which still can be explained through a prior interaction because ‘love at first sight’ still requires some form of meaningful—”

“And there’s the _idealist_ ,” the professor says, nodding thoughtfully. Professor Pines continues, “I don’t really want to keep any of you any longer, so please make sure to read over the syllabus.” He pauses for a moment, glancing between the front and the back of the room. “I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting semester.”

Deidre glances around and sinks a little in her seat at the other students tossing looks between her and the boy from the party. When she looks back at him, he lifts a brow and takes a languid sip of his coffee.

~

“Don’t ask me about that,” Deidre snaps. “I don’t even want to talk about it.”

“ _That bad?_ ” Riya snorts.

“He’s a _douchebag_! He actually tried to pull some bullshit devil’s advocate crap _day one_ of the entire semester and he wouldn’t even tell me his fucking name at the party!” Deidre dodges a couple rushing out the dorm and ignores Riya’s cackling.

“ _I mean, he sounds pretty hot…_ ”

“Riya!” Deidre yanks her phone away from her ear and glares daggers at it. Her teeth grind as Riya’s raucous laugh rings through the tinny speakers and she lets out a roar that has heads turning her way. “You’re being a bad friend!”

“ _You have a crush on him! Look—Deidre—_ ”

“I’m hanging up on you. Hand to God, I will absolutely end this call right now—“

“ _Oh my god, stop being dramatic._ ”

“And of course he shows up ten minutes late to class with Starbucks in hand—didn’t even give a fuck about everyone staring at him or the fact that he chose to further disrupt everything by walking his—” She fumbles her keys at first but eventually jams the metal into the door, “—stupid—dumb!”

Ingrid sits up but Deidre only gives a small wave as she quite literally throws herself on her own bed. She puts Riya on speaker and tosses the phone on her nightstand.

“ _Dee?_ ”

“Hey Riya!” Ingrid says. Her eyes dart between Deidre and the phone. “Everything okay?”

“ _Deidre’s got a crush._ ”

“Shut up.” Deidre rolls over and faces the wall. “There’s a douchebag in my class.”

Ingrid pauses for a long moment. “Like frat boy rich douchebag or just regular smegular rich douchebag?”

“ _She’s got budding sexual tension with a boy that’s probably as smart as she is._ ”

“Riya—” Deidre pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, mood.” Ingrid readjusts her glasses. “If he’s as hot as the dude you saw at the frat party, I’ll be the first to say you should go for it.”

Deidre braces.

“ _Speaking of which—_ ”

“ **Riya**.”

“ _You wouldn’t believe it but it just so happens—_ ”

“I’MHANGINGUPTHEPHONEGOODBYE.”

A profound silence hangs in the room like the most uncomfortable and bloated thing in the world. Ingrid keeps penning away on her notebook and occasionally peeks at the textbook lying open next to her. Deidre lets the silence fester as she gets up and digs through her bag, pulling out notebooks and textbooks to get started on her own work.

An hour passes before Ingrid speaks up. “ _Ohhhhh_ …it _was_ the hot guy from the frat party, wasn’t it?”

Deidre pointedly ignores her.

~

Three hours and seventeen minutes. She times herself only because it’s necessary. Darius used to joke and say she was going “beast mode” when she got so into her work that time just stops existing as a concept.

Even if time stops existing, hunger doesn’t so it comes as no surprise that her tummy growls when she finally shuts her last textbook. Day one and she’s already diving deep— _perfect_. She stretches as she gets up and grabs her keychain.

The dining hall is something else entirely. A bevy of appetizing foods fill the buffet and even more is served by the dedicated cooking staff, of which are all chefs of significant renown if she remembers correctly from the online facilities tour.

Stepping through the doors almost feels like stepping into another dimension. Extensive wood finish fills in every panel of the floor, mahogany furniture with fine leather seats make up a sitting area, and ornate paintings hang on all the walls. Her stomach gurgles again when the smell of baked chicken wafts in her nose. Deidre makes a beeline towards wherever that smell leads her.

Rotisserie chicken, beans and rice, steamed vegetables perfectly seasoned, freshly prepared mango and passionfruit juice—

It isn’t even the most delectable thing from the kitchens: lobster bisque, the freshest produce, the most tender cuts of steak, oysters, and even more. Savory and sweet collide in a mesh of flavorful smells that sets her appetite from moderate to desperate. She swipes her card for her meal and carefully dodges students shuffling about the dining area.

“Oh, right…” she mumbles.

Seems like every person decided now was a fantastic time to get dinner. The dining hall is packed from top to bottom with students. Some sit in groups with textbooks and laptops out on the tables. Others sit off on their lonesome reading from books while absently shoveling spoonfuls in their mouths. There’s a group of extremely attractive girls that waltz past flanked by some fit boys all wearing identical shorts and boat shoes.

Deidre takes a few tentative steps forward and scans the room carefully.

There’s a butt in every seat. Some eyes dart towards her as she walks past but they don’t seem to mind her presence. Or maybe they just don’t care.

She finds an empty seat and moves to set her tray down when a girl clears her throat. The smile that spreads across the girl’s face is sickly sweet—she’s clearly not happy seeing a face trying to squeeze into such a big space and her eyes noting the simple style of Deidre’s fashion makes the smile spread a little wider.

“I’m waiting on some friends. Sorry,” the girl says, clearly not apologetic.

Deidre stares at her for a moment before shaking her head and turning back towards the packed dining hall. She starts her hunt anew when a hand touches her on the square of her back.

“Hey, Deidre, right?” She turns around and finds Brandon’s face. His gaze roams uncomfortably, where he looks she isn’t sure but she’s just as equally sure she doesn’t want him to do that. “Where’s Ingrid?”

“Uh, studying,” she says. “How’ve you been?”

He shrugs. “Day one, so nothing really exciting yet. How about you? First day of college going well?”

“Yeah, just—” She nods towards the full room, “—looking for a place to sit. I didn’t think so many people would be here.”

Brandon’s hand slides a little further up her back and there’s a pressure there that feels like he’s trying to guide her. Her feet lock in place even though her body sways and when she locks eyes with him, he’s staring at her like he’s trying to gauge his next move.

“You should come sit with me and my friends,” he suggests. He points out a table full of students with laptops sitting out. “We’re all STEM—engineering mostly. Ingrid said you were mechanical engineering, right?”

The whole reason she goes to that frat party is to try out new things as a young adult. Life here doesn’t have to be all about hitting the books, it’s about exploring and Ingrid attempts to give her that on the first night. Going back inside was for Ingrid’s sake then and for the remainder of the party, Brandon couldn’t seem to keep his eyes to himself. He wants to get to know her and she should try getting to know him but there’s just something so strange about this.

Her eyes dart around the room and a piercing gaze connects with hers.

The weird boy—the douchebag in the leather jacket.

He’s holding a book but he’s got it hovering over the table like he’s about to set it down. His gaze flits to Brandon behind her and he makes a subtle nod at the empty chair in front of him. He’s got his feet in it.

“Uh, actually…” Deidre steps away from Brandon and tries not to sigh in relief as his hand falls away from her back. She musters the best sheepish smile she can handle. “I just saw a friend! I’ll see you later!”

She wants to kick herself—she doesn’t want to see him again if she can’t help it. But it doesn’t matter now, getting away is all that’s important.

The weird boy moves his feet quickly and sits up in his chair. His gaze lingers on Brandon while she sits down and lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in.

“Is he gone?” she whispers.

He doesn’t answer her for a while. Eventually, he leans back again and opens up his book.

“You’re good.”

Silence fills the void between them as he occasionally flips through his book. Her confused stare morphs into an annoyed glare and she digs into her food once it becomes clear he’s done his one good deed of the day. Savory food fills her belly bite after bite and she swears to try the fried plantains next time. It won’t be anything like how her mom used to make, she’s sure, but the thought fills her with a sense of nostalgia.

She wonders what her dad’s doing right now.

He’ll be getting ready for work soon. The three hour time difference is still something she hasn’t gotten used to just yet but he doesn’t seem to mind getting “good morning” texts at six o’clock.

She sighs—he’ll have to find something to occupy his time now that she’s gone. He’s truly alone this time around.

Deidre looks up and the weird boy is staring straight at her. She hates his look almost as much as Brandon’s.

“What?” she says around a mouthful of food.

“You keep making weird noises and I’m debating on whether or not I want to ask what’s up with you,” he responds.

“You just—” She swallows her food. “I’m fine. Thank you for letting me sit down.”

He keeps looking at her and she tries her best to pointedly ignore him. Every so often her eyes dart to the book in his hand— _Mount Washington_ by James Ashton.

“What’s really up with you?” Deidre looks up at him. He shuts the book and sets it next to his already empty tray. He crosses his arms and leans on the table, subtly glancing over her shoulder. “You were way too chipper for an eight o’ clock in the morning elective so I’m assuming you’re either new to campus or…”

His lips quirk when she narrows her eyes.

“Or?” she asks, already aware of the answer. “I’m a ‘nerd?’ God forbid someone takes their education seriously around here…”

He shrugs. “You still haven’t said what’s wrong with you.”

She chews on a bit of chicken slowly before swallowing, eyes finally connecting with his again. His are black as the night and striking. There’s nothing wrong with admitting he’s handsome in a boyish way. He tilts his head and her face grows a little warm.

“I was thinking about my dad,” she finally says. “It’s been the two of us for a while and I’m wondering what he’s going to do now that I’m not home.”

A small silence hangs between them.

“Where you from?” he asks.

“LA.”

The boy snorts. “Bullshit.” She fixes him with a questioning look and he shakes his head. “ _I’m_ from LA. I knew Mar Vista sounded familiar—you went to that prep school. State of the art or some shit.”

“It wasn’t all that, I promise you. Where’d you go?”

“Just a little further north—H.H. Huntington. Public school though, so nowhere near as fancy as what you got.” His face softens a bit though not nearly by much. “I left my mom back home but she’s had a year to figure out the benefits of having a house to herself by now. Your old man will get there soon.”

There’s a part of her that can’t help but think it’s a little sweet that his hard gaze softens further at the mention of his mother. Babies all grown up and flying out the nest is how their parents will see them. She wonders if her dad will even recognize her when she comes back—wonders if the boy’s mother has already accepted the young man that now walks through the doors when he comes home.

“You seemed pissed about earlier today.” His voice brings her back and she stabs at a piece of broccoli.

“In class, you mean,” she clarifies.

“Studious types—you can’t stand being wrong.”

“I wasn’t wrong—”

“And neither was I,” he interrupts. His eyes dart over her shoulder once more and she turns a bit just to follow his gaze. Brandon sits over with his friends and turns the minute her body starts shifting. The boy drums his fingers on his arm. “You done yet?”

~

“You were valedictorian, weren’t you?”

Her brows draw. “Why?”

“Chipper for an eight o’clock and you’re scared about the semester already…” He glances back over his shoulder. “And I told you Langston doesn’t take average kids.”

The boy is so weird. Not weird like Brandon is, which is the kind of weird that makes a person want to double bolt their doors. He’s weird in the sense that there’s a constant game of hot and cold that seems to fuel his every word. He’s perceptive—he remembers her mentioning Mar Vista despite only speaking to her for a total of two minutes. The last time she speaks with him (prior to dinner), he prods at her like an asshole kid poking at a hornet’s nest. His ability to pick things apart is apparent and—

Her brain literally stops.

Langston is filled with money. Langston _is_ money. Average students means average in status only and it’s an extremely competitive school to get into.

Deidre’s eyes rake over the boy—his face, the leather jacket, the backpack slung over his back, and the white motorcycle helmet he holds in the other hand…

“You were…” It’s like the wheels are turning and his gaze immediately meets hers.

“Go on,” he quietly urges.

“You were the valedictorian of your school,” she manages.

He cracks a smile that she can only describe as vicious—she’s not sure why. “Yeah, this semester is about to be hilarious.”

She bristles. “You’re a dick.”

He smirks like he’s proud of it. “I’m walking you home, aren’t I?”

Deidre scoffs and turns away. Day one and she’s regretting some of her decisions already. 

“I don’t even know your name,” she says.

“I don’t know yours either.”

“I tried to ask you at the frat party and you just blew me off,” she counters.

The boy shrugs. “My roommate wrapped up her date and I didn’t want to waste any more time. I guess I could tell you now but it’s way funnier thinking your name is…” A wicked smirk spreads across his face.

She looks at him. “Is _what_?”

“Stacy,” he says and laughs at the indignation on her face.

“It’s _Deidre_.”

“Or Becky,” he keeps prodding. “But ‘Deidre’ is nice. I bet people say it right.”

She sighs. “The first time, sure. But then they see the face that goes with the name and it’s impossible to get them to do it again.”

He goes quiet for a second. “Colt. And, no, it’s not short for anything. My last name’s the one that gets butchered though, but I’m not telling you that.”

 _Colt_. His name is “Colt.”

“I prefer thinking of you as ‘the weirdo’,” she teases.

“Most girls save that kind of talk until after the first date.”

Deidre sucks her teeth.

“You think you can get away with things because you’re a smartass,” she bites.

“No, I get away with it because I’m cute. But if you want to go head to head over this, I won’t stop you.” Colt stops—they’ve reached the halfway point across campus. She looks up at him and feels one side of her brain wrestling with the other in the form of an oncoming headache. They stand there awkwardly (mostly on her part) until he nods down the path leading to her dorm. “Be careful, alright?”

So strange—one minute he’s a smartass and the next he’s being a white knight. Deidre wraps her arms around herself and nods.

“See you on Thursday…” She says, turning down the path. A quick glance over her shoulder and he stays rooted there until she gets a safe enough distance across the quad.


End file.
